


Soothing

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, art as therapy, talk of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: Bernadetta takes some time to herself. Or, well, shetriesto.
Relationships: Bernadetta von Varley & Ignatz Victor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	Soothing

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for [lost and found zine!!](https://twitter.com/lostfoundzine)

Bernadetta takes a deep breath in and out, feeling the crisp morning air fill her lungs and ground her in a way that’s difficult to find outside her bedroom. The smells of a new day and freshly mixed paint take her from outside the monastery to another place; one where she has no obligations, no marriage prospects, one where her father isn’t lording over her shoulder with impossible expectations.

She dips her brush in her paint and marks an uneven line of trees on her canvas, matching the incredible mountain view in front of her. When she’s on the hillside her entire world can be her canvas. There’s nobody harassing her, nobody plotting against her. She can create a world where there’s peace. Where there’s quiet.

Where she’s alone.

“Oh! Hi, Bernadetta! I didn’t know you painted.”

Bernadetta screams.

“Whoa!” Ignatz throws his hands up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Bernadetta doesn’t have time to consider this. Under the pressure of her inevitable death she blurts out, “What are you doing here?!”

“I’m painting!” Ignatz tilts his head to gesture at the art bag slung over his shoulder. She narrows her eyes. “I can leave! I don’t—”

Everything clicks. She did it again. Stupid Bernie.

“Um, Bernadetta?”

Ah. She said that out loud.

“I’m so sorry!” She scrambles to gather her things, to make herself scarce and disappear like she’s supposed to. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I’ll leave now!”

“W-wait, Bernadetta, you’re not bothering me!”

She balks. “You don’t need to lie —”

“Please, stay!” She freezes and stares. Ignatz smiles, shaking and unsure, and continues. “I think it’d be nice to paint side by side, if that’s okay with you.”

Oh no.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?” she spits. Ignatz’s smile drops.

“What? No!”

She brandishes a paintbrush like a sword, which she doesn’t know how to use. _“Yes you are!”_

“No, I swear!” he cries. She recognizes the look on his face, the look of panic that could be real or could be hiding his true nefarious intentions. She prepares for a fight to the death. He takes a deep breath. “I just saw you painting and I uh, I thought it’d be nice to join you. That’s it, I promise!”

She takes a moment to consider his story. It’s a likely one, she’ll give him that. It’s also one someone trying to kill her would come up with if they were trying to fool her into trusting them.

But also one that may be true.

“Fine,” she lowers her deadly paintbrush, never breaking eye contact as she speaks, “But if there’s any funny business, I’ll kill you.”

He swallows. “Um, okay.”

It’s a risk, but she manages to look away and return her focus to her painting. She listens closely as Ignatz sets up his things, careful to capture any sudden movements that could lead to a painful demise. None come. She finds herself lulled into security.

A terrible, terrible mistake.

“Hey, uh, I really like how you did that.”

Bernadetta screams. Ignatz seems to be used to it by now.

“That part right there,” he explains, tracing the edge of a mountain with his finger. “You really captured the ethereal glow behind the mountains, I like it.”

Her brain takes a moment to catch up. 

“O-oh,” she says, “I guess so.”

There’s a pause. She looks at Ignatz; he’s staring at her with a furrowed brow.

“You didn’t realize?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No I just, um, it just felt right to do that.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “So you paint with feeling, then?”

Her body seizes up. She stammers, “Wh-why? Is that wrong?!”

Ignatz smiles, patient and kind. “No, Bernadetta. Everybody paints differently. It’s fine. It’s cool, actually; I don’t know how to paint with feeling.”

“What do you paint with, then?” The words tumble out and she snaps a hand over her mouth.

“My eyes, I guess?” Ignatz laughs like it’s nothing. She relaxes. “Actually, Bernadetta?”

She doesn’t react, lest she says something stupid again.

“You seemed really into your painting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so peaceful.”

“Oh, I see,” she says. And she _does_ see. She sees it all. The deceit on his face, the nefarious intentions in his words. “You were looking for my weak spots. Are you going to kill me while I’m painting? Or will you wait until I’m asleep?”

“No!” he shouts. She flinches; she’s never heard him raise his voice. He sighs and continues, his voice even and calm again. “I mean, no, Bernadetta. I’m not trying to hurt you, I just wanna be friends.”

A pause while she gathers her thoughts. She deflates.

“Fine,” she mutters, “Yeah, I feel better when I paint.”

Ignatz rests a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t jump.

“That’s really nice,” he says, “Why don’t you paint more?”

She thinks. “I do other things,” she says, slow, “I write and embroider, that sort of thing.”

His hand tightens. “That’s so cool! Are you this peaceful with all of them?” 

“Well, I’m in my room with the rest of them, so yeah.”

“Ah, but you have to go outside to paint.”

“Not really, but,” she sighs, “I start to feel sick if I paint inside for too long.”

“Oh, right,” he says, “Don’t use turpentine inside.”

“But,” she says, bolder, “This spot is nice and peaceful. I like it here. Nobody bothers me.”

Ignatz hesitates and removes his hand. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not,” she says, a bit too quickly. She takes a deep breath. “It was nice…”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Neither of them paint, neither of them move. 

Her hand tightens around her paintbrush. “Um, Ignatz?”

He raises his brows. “Hm?”

Bernadetta takes a deep breath before asking the forbidden question. “What made you start painting?”

“Oh! I thought you were about to ask something really bad.” Ignatz chuckles. She blushes. “It’s silly. I gave Raph’s little sister something I drew and it made her _so_ happy. It felt good, you know? To make someone happy.”

She’s suddenly much more uncomfortable than she was before. “O-oh. That’s really nice.”

“How about you?” he asks. She dares to look at his bright, expectant face for just a moment before snapping her eyes back to her canvas.

“You probably don’t wanna know,” she mutters.

“I do!” he says. She doesn’t look, but he sounds genuine. “Tell me.”

“Um, it’s just…” She sighs. It’s hard to talk about it. “It’s something nice that gets me out of my room at home, you know?”

“Oh, I totally understand!” he says, but the words keep tumbling out of her mouth.

“My father only lets me do things that make me a good wife,” she continues. Much like her father’s calm facade over his vicious temper, the walls are cracking with the slightest pressure. “He says painting is a good skill, so he sends me with a guard to paint occasionally.”

There’s a pause.

“Oh,” he says, much sadder than before. She sighs.

“It’s nice. Peaceful, too.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice quiet. “It’s nice to get away. Hey, Bernadetta?”

She looks up. He’s looking out over the landscape.

“I uh, I’m not gonna pretend I understand,” he says, “But it helps my anxiety, too. You’re uh, you’re not alone in that.”

Bernadetta blinks. “Huh?”

He packs some paint onto his brush like they didn’t just have a terrifying, exposing conversation. “I don’t know. I just — putting color down, making a world, you know? It helps my anxiety.”

She looks back at her canvas and considers his words. Her eyes follow the deep shadows of the abyss, the mountains fading into the atmosphere as they move further and further away. She can feel the forest comforting her, she can taste the freedom from beyond the mountains. “Huh. Me too, I guess.”

That’s it, really. Ignatz doesn’t say more, he just paints. His colors are much more vibrant than Bernadetta’s, saturated with optimism and a love for his world. That’s fine. She likes what she’s created, and if she’s honest she likes what he’s created, too. Not that she’ll tell him.

That’s fine, too.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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